


Kindred

by doobler



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 18:55:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15492477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doobler/pseuds/doobler
Summary: Steve is invited to the Sanctum for a night of alone time with the Avengers' resident sorcerer





	Kindred

Steve felt overdressed and over prepared. 

Was this even a date at all? Had he read the signs entirely wrong? Were the flowers a bit much?

He wasn't allowed a second more to question his decisions before the double doors to the Sanctum Sanctorum swung open. Stephen stood there, bathed in the warm light of dusty lamps and burning candles, dressed in comfortable pajamas and a silken bathrobe. Steve swallowed thickly. Definitely over prepared.

"Is that a bouquet, captain Rogers?" Stephen beamed, fondness sparkling in his eyes.

"It might be, Dr.Strange," Steve shot back, all boyish charm and easy smiles. "May I come in?"

Stephen swept his arm in a dramatic arc, ushering the good captain inside. Steve turned on his heels, admiring the classical architecture and undeniable coziness that the Sanctum seemed to posses. The air smelled like moth balls and fresh baked cookies. He felt right at home, as if the natural sounds that echoed through the foyer resonated with his heartstrings.

"This way." Stephen ushered him along. The Cloak was nowhere to be seen and yet the sorcerer seemed to glide across the hardwood floors.

They wandered down an array of halls, skipping up staircases until they stopped at a rather intimate reading nook tucked in a far off corner. Stephen gestured for his guest to sit, pointing him to one of the cushy leather armchairs. Steve sat, still awkwardly clutching his bouquet.

"Oh. Here, allow me," Stephen snapped his fingers and a vase appeared. It filled itself with water as he tucked the flowers inside, inhaling deeply. "Is there lavender in here? My favorite."

Steve smiled brightly, looking like an oversized child on weathered leather. He opened his mouth, only to snap it shut as a glass manifested in his open palm.

"Thirsty?" Stephen fluttered his eyelashes with a sultry smirk.

"Just water, thank you." Steve grinned back.

The glass gurgled, filling to the brim. Steve took a cautious sip, watching intently as the sorcerer curled up in his own chair. How such a long-limbed man could fold himself into such a tight space eluded Steve. Magic had to be involved. They sat in companionable silence for a little before Steve broke it.

"So ah. Do you have anything planned or...? I mean, I have no problem sitting here and trading looks all night if you'd like."

Stephen chuckled, a slim hand pressing to his mouth.

"Right, sorry-- I wanted to show you something."

The filing cabinets behind them eased open with an ominous  _woosh_. Steve rose, brows quirked, and began to investigate. After pulling out a few folders filled with documents, a bright sunshining laugh erupted from his chest.

"Doc, what are these?" He grinned, holding up a laminated photo.

It was a faded picture of two women arm in arm, both mugging for the camera. One was gripping a broom and both wore tall pointed hats. Behind them, the moon sat full and bright in the late evening sky. The trees were barren and both women were wearing thick fabric dresses. Something about the setting made Steve think it was October, possibly even Halloween.

"Vintage witches," Stephen laughed. "Honest-to-god sorcerers from the 40's. Magic is as old as time itself and organized agencies of the mystic arts have been around since the dawn of man. The disciples of Kamar-Taj aren't an anomaly you know."

Steve sat back in his chair, a bundle of folders clutched to his chest. He patiently thumbed through each and every photo. He saw witches in L.A, Brooklyn, the deep south, Canada, and places he didn't remotely recognize. He wondered if the other Sanctums in London and Hong Kong had their own archives from days long passed. He wanted to see old English witches and ancient Chinese sorcerers, any evidence he could lay his hands on.

"I hope I'm not... Stirring up anything," Stephen conjured up a flask, pouring its contents into a short glass. The smell of smoky alcohol filled the air. "I was hoping to evoke. Y'know."

"Nostalgia?" Steve finished with a grin. "You're definitely on target, that's for sure. It's like I'm back home again, just... More magical."

"I assume you miss it."

Steve sat back, cupping another photo between lax fingers. It was of a young boy, probably around seven, with big bright eyes and a toothy grin. His two front teeth were missing and he had a bandage across his nose. In his hands was a shattered broomstick. He looked surprisingly proud despite the circumstances. Maybe he'd just taken his first flight.

"I miss my friends," Steve thought aloud. "I miss my home. But... Things were different back then. We've come a long way. Under the eyes of the law, we're all... Equal. Gay people can marry, blacks and whites can coexist. Doctors don't prescribe you cigarettes to cure your asthma."

Stephen made a startled noise, choking on a mouthful of bourbon. His eyes were wide and he coughed wetly. Steve snickered, pulling a handkerchief from his shirt pocket and passing it over.

"But there was... I dunno," The captain pursed his lips, blinking rapidly. "There was a kinda. Optimism I don't see much of nowadays. People were ready to fight for what was right and. We seemed proud and excited and. People today still fight but everything feels so... So... So pointless. Bad news never really ever seems to stop. There's no war to win, it's all domestic terrorism and..."

"I understand," Stephen sighed. "I totally understand what you're trying to say."

The pair went silent. A sense of foreboding floated through the air. Stephen polished off his drink, refilling it in a flash. He took a few delicate sips, letting the flavor bloom across his tongue.

"I wish we could fix it all," Steve mused, his voice soft. "I wish there was an easy solution. 'Just don't be a bad person'. But... That's not really how the world works, huh?"

"Steve, how old are you?"

The captain raised his head suddenly, tilting his head to one side. He looked like a confused puppy, blue eyes wide and shocked.

"If my math is right, nearly 100. Why's that?"

"No,  _how old are you?_ "

Steve dropped his gaze. He inhaled slowly, eyes fluttering shut.

"... Roughly 28. I was 21 when they chose me for the super solider program."

" _Jesus fucking Christ_ ," Stephen breathed, rolling his glass between his fingers. "Oh wow. Fucking.  _Wow_."

"Crazy, huh?" Steve's smile was melancholy. "I don't even know how old I actually feel at this point, it's all so... Confusing."

"I honestly feel like a perverted old man now." Stephen replied, his voice hollow.

Their eyes met and both men devolved into a fit of giggles. It was nice to be able to vent out such dark inner turmoil with someone who was eager to make you smile.

"What about you?"

Stephen lifted one brow, once again supplying his glass with more smoky ambrosia. He took a long sip, silver-green eyes sharp and calculating.

"Do you have a past you miss?" Steve continued. "Nostalgia?"

"Mm... Youth." Stephen snickered, holding up his drink to catch the light.

"I wasn't always such a... A reprehensible douche bag," He chuckled into the mouth of his bourbon, tipping it back with a scowl. "There was a time when I was... Kind. Demure. Soft, like Peter says."

Steve huffed a laugh. That weird millenial vernacular seemed to be rubbing off on everyone now.

"Before... It was. It was my sister, really. I wanted to be good for her, better for her. She's why I became a doctor actually," Stephen's gaze was fond, distant and glassy as the plains of Nebraska spilled before his eyes. "On the farm, you get real down and dirty and she was such a clumsy girl. I took it upon myself to tend to every bruise and. Slap a band-aid on every cut. I wanted to save other little girls and other people like her, so. So full of life and warmth and goodness."

Stephen hiccuped. For a moment, Steve thought it was alcohol. Suddenly, tears began to fall, thick and heavy like a summer storm.

"I blamed myself for her death," Stephen sobbed. His hands trembled so hard, droplets of bourbon poured down his fingers. "If I was home and not away at college, if I had stayed, if I had warned someone-- Only I could've saved her, only I could've stopped it. She was so fucking young, Steve. She was too fucking young."

Unsure of how to respond, Steve retrieved his handkerchief and bent down. He carefully blotted away the tears as they fell, cupping one angular cheek as he did so. Stephen let himself be cared for, his eyelids fluttering shut. Soft little noises pooled past his lips. 

"I'm s-sorry," The sorcerer slurred, his hands shaking as he gripped the arms of his chair. "I don't... I don't know where that c-came from..."

"Deep down," Steve's smile was so soft, so kind, so gentle. "Sounds like you've been keeping that in for a real long time."

"I h-have," Stephen tilted his head forward slightly, watching tears trickle down Steve's fingers. "I... She... It's been..."

"I know."

Steve set down the handkerchief, taking a scarred hand between both of his own. He stroked along each pale line, tracing his fingers around bony knuckles and nearly numb fingertips. Stephen slowly regained his breath, wet sobs turning to airy gasps. He let his eyes flutter shut, pressing his lips firmly together to muffle himself.

"Maybe it's time you get to bed, huh?" Steve asked, his voice scarcely above a whisper. 

"It feels like you just got here..."

Twisting around, Steve struggled to find a clock. When one caught his eye, he sniffled sharply. 12am. They'd been pouring over old photos for almost four hours. Stephen had been drinking the entire time.

"C'mon, doc, I think you deserve some rest."

The sorcerer opened his mouth to argue, only to let out an embarrassingly high gasp as Steve cradled him in his arms. He held Stephen in a bridal carry, easily hauling him from hall to hall, down the stairs, through the foyer, to his bedroom. Wong was nowhere to be seen, probably asleep like a sensible human being.

"Alright, here's your stop." Steve smiled.

He managed to get the door open, carrying Stephen across the floor and gently setting him down on the bed. The sorcerer's cheeks were positively flushed, bright scarlet against porcelain making his silver-grey eyes glow. When he didn't make a move, Steve dropped to one knee, fingers working to untie his robe. He pushed the dark silk off of slim shoulders, watching it fold and pool around Stephen's wrists. 

"Do you. Do you need to," The sorcerer sounded more drunk than he acted, his posture firm but his tongue loose and clumsy. "You uh. You could stay. If you want. If you uh. Don't need to leave. Yet. Tonight."

"Oh. Yeah, sure. Do you have a room I could...?"

Stephen leaned back, pulling the duvet off of his bed with a subtle smirk. He eased the robe off of his frame, gingerly stepping out of his pants before sliding into bed. He gave Steve his back, curling up like a cat against the mattress. It took a few moments before he could hear the whisper of fabric, the dull thud of a belt hitting the floor, the dip of the bed as a new member joined it. Stephen opened his mouth, eager to make a playful quip. Instead, he felt a wave of chills overtake his form, snatching his voice from his chest. Steve cupped the entire length of Stephen's body with his own, spooning long lithe limbs in the curve of his strong arms and chest. He was wearing only his boxers.

"Is this okay?" Steve's breath came hot against Stephen's neck.

"O-oh it's definitely more than just o-okay."

The super soldier laughed, soft and warm, before burying his face in Stephen's shoulder. He pulled Stephen a little closer, eagerly taking what he could reach into the cradle of his arms.

"Get some sleep," He mumbled. A tiny kiss fell against Stephen's jaw. "I'll be here in the morning, I promise."

The sorcerer sniffled. Hot tears threatened to spill from his eyes. His throat clenched and burned. Damned alcohol. He curled in on himself, letting Steve take him even closer. Their legs locked together, arms intertwining. A few more kisses met flushed pale skin. It wasn't long before Stephen was fast asleep and soon enough, Steve followed 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments always appreciated!


End file.
